Loving The Nights
by Wind Chijmes
Summary: [Yaoi, AU, 1x5x1] Something about misty nights and drizzling rain spark off an urban fairy-tale between two lonely strangers.


**Loving The Nights**

**Pairing :** 1x5  
**Ratings :** PG-13  
**Warnings :** Yaoi, AU, mild angst/lime, possible OOC, romance  
**Disclaimer :** Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu, Sunrise and associated affiliates, not me.

**Summary :** Amidst misty nights and rain, two lonely souls meet and spark off an urban fairy-tale.

* * *

_Nights.  
Midnight canvas, golden glimmer  
Candy starlight, silver glitter  
Rain-slick streets and misted glass  
Moondust flowers and dewdrop grass  
Winds in trees  
Songs in leaves  
Drizzle on my sleeves  
Warm white mittens in fluffy pockets  
Pretty pictures in little lockets  
Bobbing black, umbrella sea  
Speck of red, maybe me_

  
Chang Wufei lay down his pencil and leaned back into his comfy chair. Stretching his aching limbs, he crossed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He had just finished the final draft of an article for the little local newspapers in his part of the town. 

Somewhere on that line of thought, he opened his eyes again and the tattered piece of paper before him loomed before his vision. That was a silly little poem he conjured up in a moment of fatigued haze after typing the very last line of his draft. He'd be damned if he sent *that* thing to the editor. 

An undignified growl from his stomach reminded him uncomfortably that as yet again, he had somehow forgotten to take his dinner. A second sharp pang immediately corrected him. He'd probably forgotten lunch too. He spared a glance at the little radio-clock that sat on his desk and cringed at the time. Eating supper really was *not* the healthiest activity he could indulge in, but either that or he starve till daybreak and probably not sleep all night because of gastric cramps. 

Supper then. Maybe takeaway. Noodles...vermicelli...He mulled over it for several moments, before sighing to himself and gave in to what he really craved right now - prawn dumplings from the nearest dim sum eatery. A self-deprecatory smile ghosted over his face as he shrugged into his windbreaker. If he was gonna be unhealthy, he might as well make the best of it. 

A quick glance into the mirror - only because he really had to so he wouldn't go out looking like he hadn't groomed in days - and he sighed again. Nights of burning the midnight oil were starting to manifest in his state of appearance. His black hair was lank, and this he fixed by pushing the longish strands behind his ears. Dark rings circled his eyes, making him look more panda than human. This he couldn't fix so he didn't care, unless of course you count the black-rimmed spectacles he wore whenever he worked. They shielded his eyes at best. He had also grown a little too wiry for his frame, also something he couldn't really fix, but he could disguise it and the windbreaker came in handy. 

Once done with his little fix-it bout, he was good to go. He took his umbrella - the colour of bright cherry, and perhaps an attempt to maintain some form of colour in his life, he mused. It had been drizzling the whole day, and well into the night. The rain was still falling now, he realised as he stepped out of his rented apartment and onto the steps that would take him into the drenched street outside. 

Weaving in and out of the ribbons of passers-by and streets was an art. Huddled under his cherry umbrella and clutching the edges of his windbreaker, he side-stepped the puddles of water that lined the pavements, bumping against people and being bumped into by people. It didn't matter which time of the day or night, this town was always peopled. Yet there was something about nights like this that he was deeply addicted to. It made him feel alive.

Just ahead, a haze of smoke that smelled of roasted pork wafted out of a line of stalls peddling salted and barbecued meats. He inhaled deeply, feeding the gnawing hunger in his guts, but enjoying the collision of that fog of food smells against the crisp night air. 

The welcomed sight of the neon-lit signboard of his favourite eatery was right ahead. Plus, it was opened twenty-four-seven, and that sat very well with him. It was crowded with customers even at this time of the night, with tables of all huddled together with steaming pots of food and dishes of sumptuous treats that withstood even the growing chilliness of the night. 

He knew he would step into the eatery and hear the familiar greeting from the part-time waitress that worked the night shifts there. He would get his order, pay up, and go back home for one final review of his article. 

And things might had gone as planned. 

As if right on cue from some playful god, what had been gentle falling drizzle escalated into an all-out downpour. A choral of gasps and exclamations rose as people scrambled to avoid the rain. Curses interspersed with laughter from the more amused as tables were hastily carried further into the shelter. 

Wufei hastened as fast as he could without sloshing into puddles, muttering under his breath as he shook out the excessive moisture from his battered umbrella. Standing under the shelter that branched out from the eatery, he found himself standing with pockets of people who were obviously there for the same reason as he. The rain fell even harder, drilling into them despite the shelter. Wufei began backing up, wanting to just go grab his food and get out of there. 

His back thudded into a warm mass.

Spinning around in consternation, Wufei was just about to apologise but the words fell short of his voice. He found himself staring into a pair of the most striking blue eyes he had ever seen on anyone. Those same blue eyes stared back at him for an unwavering second, then glanced down, and back up again at Wufei.

Wufei's umbrella was dripping water all over the stranger's shoes.

"Oh!" Wufei woke up from his gawking. He was sure his face was already horribly flushed, especially looking at how he was acting like some dazed schoolgirl. "I'm sorry," he said in consternation.

The stranger nodded slightly, without a word, and not so much a second glance at Wufei.

A brush of sleeves, a rustle as the umbrella opened up like a black fan, and the stranger lifted it over his head as he stepped out into the rain. Amidst the throngs of people rushing into and crowded in the shelter, the stranger cut a solitary figure as he made his way through the wash of silver rain and mist. 

A bright, feminine voice was asking Wufei if he wanted his usual order. 

That figure seemed to meld into the patterns of the black and grey of night and rain.

Wufei looked away at length, turning to the waitress. "Yes, please," he said.

  
++++++++++

  
He had declined flatly when some of the other men invited him to hit the latest club in town. He would never understand the fun in clubbing. It was noisy, it was crowded and it was a heady mix of the eclectic, the intoxicated and the breathless grinding of flesh against flesh. Besides, he didn't think he *needed* that sort of entertainment to escape from the pressures of life. What he really liked was taking drives out into the streets late at night just to soak in the gradual slowing pace of life until it was a trickle of quiet pleasure in the solitude that the late hours offered. 

He didn't have the car with him tonight, however. On a whim, he had taken subway to work that morning, braving the ridiculous push, shove and suffocation. Now however, he didn't think he was feeling up to it. As an alternative, he could take the public bus. It would mean a longer journey, but it was much more peaceful. 

Still trying to decide, he stepped onto the pavement and began walking at a comfortable stride. The scent – a heady mixture of moisture and the chill of night air – clung to his skin. It was drizzling, but so faintly the raindrops might have been just a scattering of watery dust. 

His mind was starting to go off-tangent on some wistful path. That night, it had been raining too, much harder than this though. He had just stepped out of the eatery, and was pulling out his umbrella when someone collided into him. He didn't remember much of the man, except he seemed to have black hair and equally black eyes which were hidden behind thick glasses. He recalled a voice, sounding huskier than one would expect from someone as bookish-looking, saying – 

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

He blinked. Somehow, that voice sounded too clear to be imaginary. 

"It's you!"

Now *that* couldn't be imagined. Looking around, he realised that there definitely was a person speaking to him. At first, it looked like a bundle perched on a bicycle. On closer look, he discerned a slight figure cloaked in a windbreaker, and above that thick padding of clothes, a thin face much hidden by spectacles. 

He recognised him a split-second later. It was the same young man from the eatery. The expression of mortification on his face now was practically identical to the one he had when he had dripped water over his shoes. Raising eyes the colour of ebony, the stranger looked embarrassed as he gestured awkwardly to his pants.

"Look what I did again," he said sheepishly. 

He looked, and admittedly, nearly snorted when he saw that his pants had been doused, apparently by street water this time. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice! But what was funny was how his meetings with this stranger were always somehow related to nights and water. 

"Would you like to come home with me?"

There was a very acute, mortified silence after that. He couldn't quite believe what his ears had just heard, and on the part of the strange young man, whose cheeks had turned so red that even his ears were starting to take on the same shade, those words were obviously not what they suggested either. 

"I mean," the onyx-eyed man amended hastily, his fluster quite...endearing under circumstances. "I *mean*, I live just a street away. If you want, you can follow me and I'll dry your, uh, pants."

It was an unusual proposal, but he decided he was feeling unusual that night. "Yes, thank you."

The stranger seemed a little surprised that he agreed so readily, but relaxed into a smile. He patted the seat right behind him. "Hop on."

The seat didn't look very bigneither did the flimsy-looking bicycle, nor its small cyclist. 

"It's not a car obviously," the stranger's husky tenor said a little self-deprecatingly, yet there was a grin in his tone. "But it'd carry us both with no problem."

In that case...

  
++++++++++

  
This was surreal. This was *too* surreal. 

Wufei snatched his fingers away just before he nearly burnt them to a crisp with the iron. Muttering under his breath, he picked up the fabric laying on the ironing-board and examined it carefully. No burns, and with each crease pressed to perfection. Seeing that flawlessly ironed piece of clothing brought him some sense of comfort.

It still felt surreal. 

Biting on his lip, he treaded his way silently out into the corridor, and peered out of the corner. The stranger was still seated in the living room, looking a picture of unruffled calm even though he was wearing an ancient pair of oversized shorts that Wufei still kept around all these years for some strange reason. He wasn't even watching the TV or anything – just sitting there with his arms crossed before his chest. Wufei took the opportunity to observe the man. 

The first thought that struck him was that the man was handsome. Not in a conventional way. His dark-brown hair was so tousled it looked practically a nest from some angles, but the hair softened his sharp profile. From behind that hair was a pair of eyes so blue they were unearthly – and also the first thing Wufei always noticed about the man. The eyes had a steely gleam too harsh for the relative youthfulness of the facethe nose was too long, the chin too angular, having that stubborn set to it that suggested that the man was used to getting his way. And yet, everything added up to an appearance that was didn't quite belong to any category. 

Maybe that was why he looked as distinguished as he did...

"Are they done?"

Wufei jumped. "Oh!" He looked down at the folded pants he was clutching, then back at the piercing blue eyes gazing back at him. "Yes, they're done. Here." 

His apartment was tiny – just a rented single-storey affair he could afford with his part-time job of writing for a small newspaper. And now, it seemed even tinier as he stood awkwardly to one side, blatantly *not* looking as the stranger he brought home began stripping down and putting on his pants. And while he was on this topic, it wasn't like he brought strangers home normally – or at all. 

"Thank you."

Wufei turned around, and inevitably his errant mind instantly noted that the man definitely looked better in his own pants, than in those oversized shorts. He tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, although there was a disturbing gleam in the other man's eyes that seemed to suggest that he knew what was going on in Wufei's mind. Not good.

"You wrote this?" The blue-eyed man was holding up a ratty-looking piece of paper. 

Not...just any ratty piece of paper! He recognised the words scrawled on it. "Yeah," he said. "What about it?" he knew he sounded ridiculously defensive, but heck, what was that man thinking anyway, leafing through other people's private stuff! 

"I didn't mean to read," the other man said quietly, correctly guessing the source of Wufei's irritation. "It was on the table – open."

Of course. That night, he had left it on the table, together with piles of so much other junk that he had completely forgot about it. 

"It's nothing," Wufei said offhandedly, taking that piece of paper from the man and balling it in one hand. Next time, he'd learn to be a little less forgetful about his own things. "Just something silly."

"No. It'snice."

Nice. The perennial word for anything that wasn't good, but wasn't bad enough to warrant a more forceful term. 

"I should leave," the man said, as if sensing Wufei's discomfort. He glanced towards the door. 

"Oh! Of course," Wufei remembered his feet. He felt a little sorry that the man was already leaving so soon, but it was no fault of his for thinking that he had overstayed his welcome. Even Wufei himself felt like cringing with the antsy manner he had been displaying the whole night. Picking his way carefully in case things got even worse – such as tripping over his own feet – he unlatched his door and pulled it open. 

Outside, the rain had stopped falling, leaving behind puddle-dotted streets and misted shop windows. A tangy after-rain scent clung to the air. The night had turned cold; their breaths were little puffs of warmth. 

Wufei shifted awkwardly to allow his visitor passage. There wasn't much room – Wufei could feel the slide and rustle of the man's sleeves against his arm. Then, the inevitable tingle of bare skin, and he moved hurriedly to shut the door. 

A hand rose and closed around the edge of the still-opened door, preventing it from being closed. The blue-eyed man stepped back firmly into the doorway and Wufei found himself staring rather blankly up into a sharply handsome face that was suddenly so near to his own. Those eyes were even more striking at such close distance, and they appraised him openly, seeming to miss nothing it its intense scrutiny. 

"I meant it when I said it was nice." 

Nice? What – oh, the poem. "...Oh" Wufei felt like a ventriloquist's dummy – open-mouthed, blank-faced and speaking with a face not his own. "Okay." With the same wooden intelligence to match too. 

The stranger stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. There was a curious quirk to his lips that made him look like he was smiling and trying *not* to. Nodding politely to Wufei one last time, he turned and headed for the pavement that would lead out into the main road. 

How was it he was always left speechlessly staring after that man? Wufei couldn't even think up a single reason as he watched the man leave, his figure disappearing around the bend. 

And then he realised he hadn't even asked for that man's name.

  
  
++++++++++ ++++++++++

  
  
It helped that he was getting a brief reprieve from his academic life, but the way he was spending the two-week break certainly wasn't going to boost his point average, that was for sure. 

This was the third night he was doing this – patrolling the web of streets outside his apartment. Not the third night in a row! Just...night number three. He didn't know what the hell he was doing it for, but inexplicably, he'd end up on his bicycle, searching for something he couldn't really name. And he'd do this, cycling aimlessly around until his legs were tired, or he got too cold – whichever happened first. 

Just now, he had gotten a little box of egg tarts from a bakery near his apartment. It sold an amazing array of sweets, pastries and little colourful snacks that sent the most tempting smells wafting into the air for miles. That was an exaggeration, but Wufei thought it close to the truth anyway. Tonight, he was in an egg-tart mood. He thought of those little round pastries with their bright-yellow middles and that filmy layer of caramel glaze on top, and his stomach growled in response. 

It was not until he was starting to lift his bicycle up the cobbly set of stairs to the apartment's lobby, that he felt the presence of another near him. His heart skipped a beat. He knew of people getting mugged, and usually at this time of the night. 

He felt it again; whoever it was, the presence was right *behind* him now. 

He swung around, his arms raised to fend off whatever attacker it was. 

"Hello."

Still breathing hard from tension, Wufei's jaw dropped when he saw it was *the* stranger. Looking less the enigma and more the usual person in a simple long-sleeved black shirt and jeans, and with his hair pushed back from his face so his blue eyes looked even more striking, he nodded at Wufei. 

"Hhi," Wufei managed, quickly lowering his arms. He wondered what he looked like just now when he was about to attack his attacker with a box of tarts. "Sorry, I thought you were going torob me."

A little smile quirked the corners of the stranger's lips. "I thought you were going to hit me."

"Not really," Wufei replied wryly, feeling much at ease now. He lifted his little box. "I only have egg tarts as weapons."

"I have the advantage, then. Cookies are harder than egg tarts."

Wufei looked into the little brown paper package that the other man pulled open. True enough, it was filled with cookies – of the heavenly chocolate-chip-and-pecan variety too. But, cookies or not, they didn't explain why the man was hovering around outside Wufei's apartment. Waiting for him? It sounded too far-fetched. 

They stared awkwardly at each other, realising that one of them had to break that silence. 

"I came to thank you for the other night." The stranger ventured to speak first. He bowed his head slightly again – it was starting to look like an unconscious habit – and locks of hair instantly tumbled over his forehead. 

Wufei smiled to himself. It was funny – both the situation and the man's untameable hair. Laying his bicycle against the stairs' railings, he turned back to the man, who was observing his every move with what seemed like curiosity. Wufei gestured to the stairs. 

"Sit here?" he suggested. 

The other man looked surprised as he scrutinised the steps. Wufei figured that he must be from a relatively upper-class family, judging from his simple but finely-made clothes and the way he carried himself like he was practically nobility. What Wufei didn't figure was how readily the stranger nodded wordlessly, then proceeded to settle down on the steps without casting so much as a second glance at the possibility of them dirtying his attire. 

Wufei did the same, leaning his back against the railing. He liked sitting there sometimes – it was the closest he could get to eating under the moonlight. It wasn't like his apartment had a balcony or anything. And he liked watching the world go by. The pace of life was just slower at night, and he could watch without feeling the need to join in the rush. 

The package of cookies was thrust under his nose, and Wufei picked out one of them. It tasted as good as it smelled, he decided as he bit into it. 

"Do you always go out at night?" 

Wufei thought that over. "Not really...just these last few weeks," he admitted. 

"What about last Friday night?"

Last Friday night...Wufei remembered only a moment later. "I went to a friend's place."

"So that's why I didn't see you..."

Wufei's mouth stopped chewing, as the realisation hit him. "You were waiting for me?" he couldn't help blurting. And for the first time, he saw the stranger actually look sheepish. Beneath the fall of his hair, he had that tiny half-smile that didn't appear too often. Wufei decided that he definitely looked better with a smile. 

"Here," Wufei offered one of his own egg tarts to the other man. "I'm Chang Wufei."

The man took the egg tart carefully, his smile growing a little wider. Just a little. "Heero Yuy," he said.

  
+++++++++

  
Wufei liked talking walks at night, it turned out, as much as he liked cycling. Heero, on the other hand, had not much love for the manner of aimless strolling that Wufei seemed to revel in, but Heero wasn't able to say no when the man had asked him, pointedly, to accompany him to a walk just in the open park on the west side of town. And it wasn't as if Heero had not made an effort to decline; all his tendencies and reasoning resisted the idea of walking down some path in some park because of some reason for no real purpose. Yet, Wufei had been quietly hopeful, never pushing, but just watching Heero's response with bright, night-black eyes. 

And before Heero's fogged brain could censor his reply, he had said yes. Wufei had then nodded his head in this matter-of-fact manner, trying to appear as though it didn't actually matter whether Heero agreed or not. Intrigued by the effect he seemed to have on the other man, Heero had set the time – eight at night – also in the same gruff manner as he would set the deadline for someone working under him. 

The park, as it turned out, was just this wooded area inlaid with benches, little brooks with arching bridges and ribbons of fairy-lights strung between lamp-posts. It was like some faerie had descended upon this little place and decided to leave the marks of her magic just on a frivolous whim. 

Immersed in a book, Wufei was waiting for him near the main path that led into the park. He raised his head just as Heero approached, with that dazed look on his face as though he had yet to fully emerged from the whatever realm the book had lulled him into. But his eyes cleared and he smiled as Heero neared him. 

They must have traversed every single path that existed in that tiny park, with Wufei taking on the task of guiding their route. They took their time, talking about nothing in particular, lapsing into the occasional comfortable silence, then picking up the strands of some conversation again. 

They ended up at the stepping-stone pond, which true to its name, was a plane of velvety dark waters dotted with gleaming, flat rocks. Heero stood and stared, not quite feeling any real urge to actually step across. But as usual – and much to Heero's helplessness – Wufei had other ideas. 

"Are you scared?" Wufei said with a straight face as he regarded Heero out of teasing obsidian eyes. Without waiting for a response, he stepped out onto the first rock, then turned around and jauntily jammed his hands onto his hips like an impatient child. "Aren't you coming?"

Heero decided then it was probably time he put a stop to that feeling like he was taken for a ride every time he was with Wufei. Without missing a beat, he stepped across to the same rock, vying for the space and bumping into the other man. 

Gasping and letting out an undignified shriek which he later vehemently denied, Wufei teetered dangerously close to the water until Heero's hands managed to steady him. Hastily, Wufei found his balance again. At least, enough balance to be able to notice that Heero's hands were still needlessly cradling him by the arms, and he squirmed a little awkwardly.

"Sorry," Heero said quickly, letting go. 

"Yeah, you should be!" Wufei was just as quick in covering their mutual embarrassment at the suddenly close proximity between them. In fact, they were so close they were brushing against each other at all the wrong places! 

"Don't you know how to do stepping stones?" Wufei continued, face flushing and not hiding it very well. "You're supposed to wait until I got to the second stone!" he started to sound like he was giving a lecture on the rules of stone-stepping on water. "If – if you do keep doing that, I'd fall into the water surely!" 

"You didn't." Heero pointed out. There were other things he wanted to point out, especially the fact that they were two grown men standing on a rock that wasn't actually big enough for two grown men, and arguing about a most pointless issue. 

"I might have," Wufei retorted, looking pained that he had been drawn into the argument in the first place. He began tugging at the edges of his worn windbreaker. "I'd freeze if I fall into the water." He began to turn, looking like he was going to get to the second rock and finish his little bout of stepping-stones, with or without Heero following. 

Without thinking, Heero reached out and grabbed him by the arm. And for the second time, Wufei was reduced to gasps as he was unceremoniously turned around again. At this point, Heero truly wasn't thinking too hard anymore. The brilliant moonshine was so intricately reflected in the pond's smooth waters that all he could see was each little ripple of reflected light playing across Wufei's face. Dropping his eyes and carefully avoiding the wide-eyed onyx gaze of the other man, Heero unravelled his scarf and looped it gently around Wufei's neck. It was hard to ignore the rapid rise and fall and of Wufei's chest beneath his fingers, and decidedly much harder to ignore the warm, rapid breaths against his face, but Heero managed to slowly and calmly adjust the scarf until it rested snugly around the neck without being too tight. 

There was a short, tensed silence, before Wufei touched the scarf with an uncertain hand. "Thanks," he acknowledged. 

Heero nodded brusquely in reply. He looked up just in time to see that Wufei had already stepped across to the second rock. The black-haired man then turned, his eyes crinkled from the smile on his lips. 

"Try to catch up," he said light-heartedly, before stepping across to the third rock. 

  
++++++++++

  
He leaned back in his chair to better study the sketch he had just done. On the paper, was a pencilled image of a figure caught in mid-motion of turning its head. He darkened the strands of hair until they were ebony, and the eyes too, like deep pools of the night. Those eyes, they had an expression of wonder that he hadn't exactly intended. But as he drew, they came out like that. There...now almost finished, it was nearly an exact replica of that moment they were playing stepping stones, and Wufei had turned his head with this smile on his face. 

He picked up his drawing and stared at it. It was in no way comparable to the real thing. 

They had met again, more times than Heero could remember to count, by purposeful chance, in front of the bakery by the main road that would turn in to the block Wufei lived in. They also went to the nearest twenty-four-hour café, and just did nothing but talk and sip coffee. There was no life-story swapping or anything phenomenal about their meetings, but there was a sense of comfort and quiet, genuine enjoyment of each other's company. That was Heero had needed to fill in his nights, where a self-imposed solitude could be at its most unbearable. With Wufei, he felt that strange comfort that he could only feel with someone he was familiar – yet not too familiar with. 

Slowly, he fished out the hurriedly scrawled paper in his pocket. It was actually a post-it note that had been written on, folded, opened, and then folded again until it looked a decade old with its crumpled state. Heero could imagine the whole ritual of courage-summoning that Wufei must have gone through, before he had finally been able to nervously mention the art exhibition that was currently being staged, and that he would visit it on Saturday. Then, he had thrust that piece of paper into Heero's hands, mutter that it contained the exhibition details. 

It also had Wufei's mobile phone number. Before Heero had been able to comment on anything, Wufei had already disappeared into his block. 

Inhaling deeply, Heero sat back down into his chair. He had tried not to think about that paper for the whole week, but inevitable and inexplicably, he'd find himself staring at it like he was right now, just contemplating it. That paper had implications he didn't feel capable of handling.

He had a policy of not doing anything if he could not bear the consequences. That same policy had safeguarded his interests for as long as he could remember. 

Casting a last glance at the incomplete drawing, he slipped the paper back into his pocket.

  
++++++++++

  
"Mister, would you like come inside? You look like you would enjoy our exhibition...and we don't charge entrance fees."

What did *that* mean? Wufei looked down at himself. He had been told he sometimes looked like the quintessential dreamy artistic type too penniless to buy any art but using up a whole lifetime in a swooning, artistic haze, but he didn't think it was that extreme! He shook his head at the exhibition manager, declining politely, "I'm waiting for someone."

He didn't add that he was only waiting for someone – maybe. There was no guarantee said someone would appear. He had prayed with every fibre of being that his radar was working properly when he had shoved that slip with the exhibition details and his private number into Heero Yuy's hands. It wasn't really a first move on his part, but as far as he was concerned, that was big enough of a hint. And also as far as he was concerned, there was the good and bad of the worst-case scenarios. One – Heero just wouldn't get it at all. And two – that Heero understood and it turned out he wasn't on that side of the fence and it had been wishful thinking on Wufei's part all along. Their friendship would probably be wrecked too. 

That last thought was enough to send Wufei into bouts of fervent self-questioning as to why he made a move that early, and that impulsively! But he never did like waitingand besides, any later and he would have been too far gone into the infatuation to be able to recover properly. 

He had face up to it. He was attracted to Heero Yuy, and in a deep way. He had also faced up to the fact that it could be very well that Heero didn't feel the same way. For all the time they had spent in each other's company, he had never received consistent signals from Heero – if they were signals at *all*.

A glance at his watch. He had been waiting for two hours, and his legs ached from all that standing. Yet he refused to go in or even go away in case Heero turned up just when he wasn't around. So there he was, watching the evening disappear into the night, and still waiting. 

The exhibition would be closed for the night in two hours. Even if Heero showed up now, they would never have the time to finish checking out and discussing all the exhibits. Wufei leaned his back into the wall he was standing in front of. It offered some ease for his cramped back. He was aware of the streams of people who stared at him as they strolled past, and even more so, of the manager who must be intensely astonished at the way he was waiting for someone who apparently, wouldn't turn up. He wasn't deterred though, choosing to stay put. Even if he looked like an idiot, it was only for that day anyway. 

He waited, hands clutching the edges of his jacket, until he saw the last streams of visitors filing out of the exhibition hall and then barricades being put into place to signal the end of the exhibition for the day. 

It didn't look likely that Heero was going to show up now. 

Wufei decided he was too tired to take the public bus back. Just the thought of having to vie for space with dozens of other passengers was bad enough. Flagging down a cab, he turned briefly to the driver. "Sheares Street, thanks."

All along the way, he passed streets that he usually loved to cycle through. Things had been simple then. He didn't have someone occupying his thoughts every time he paused from work and school. 

Getting out of the cab was more of a chore than expected. For a moment, he was loath to step out and face the silent streets imprisoning his block. But there wasn't anywhere else he could go except home at this time. He paid the cab fare, absently making a mental note that this was a luxury he would *not* indulge in unnecessarily again, or he'd make a nasty habit out of it. 

He never did feel that his part of town was too quiet, but it was. Just one more bend and he'd be home. The street was empty; the only noises were his breathing and footfalls. It was so quiet. 

That was why he thought he was imagining things when he first saw that unmoving figure seated on the steps leading up to his block. It was not until that figure suddenly got to its feet that Wufei stopped dead in his tracks in astonishment. 

"Wufei," Heero was the first to break that tensed silence. He stepped out from the shadow so the light from the single street lamp cast an unnatural glow on his face. His eyes looked startling bright under that light. 

"Heero," Wufei echoed, starting to feel his chest tighten in anticipation of what he knew was coming – a full-frontal rejection. 

Heero responded by stepping right up to him, and Wufei was unable to look away from the man's piercing gaze. Wufei just prayed it would be quick. Painless would be impossible. But if it were quick, he wouldn't have too many pieces of himself to pick up after that. 

"I wanted to come," Heero said quietly. "It just took a while."

"...oh..."

Unable to manage a more intelligent response, Wufei grew acutely aware of their proximity, when he could feel Heero's breath on his cheek. It wasn't boding very well for his turmoil of confused emotions, that was for sure. He nodded his understanding, deciding inwardly not to speak again or his voice might come out as a croak. He saw the expressions flitting across Heero's eyes, not quite able to believe what he read in them. He saw...acceptance and maybe fear too, like he felt now of the whole tableau that they had dazedly got caught in. He just watched mutely, his breathing becoming shallower and shallower as Heero slowly lowered his head. 

A heartbeat passed as Heero paused, before closing in and pressing his lips to Wufei's, then darted away. It was just a ghost of a caress but the warmth it offered made Wufei chase the scant distance that still remained between them, and his lips found Heero's again with unrestrained hunger. Their mouths melded together, separated, moved together again as they learnt the taste of each other. A moment's awkward chuckling as their noses bumped unceremoniously and Wufei's glasses got in the way. Breathing still ragged and both not quite satisfied with that fleeting exploration, Heero carefully took Wufei's glasses and lifted them away from the fine-boned face it covered. Then, his gaze tracked every detail of that face, his fingers following as they traversed slender eyebrows, carved cheekbones and finally the bow of mouth. 

Wufei shook when he felt Heero's hand cupping the back of his head as he brought their mouths together again. It was deeper this time, a demanding flurry of nips and sweet friction, Wufei felt even the brush of eyelashes on his face as Heero's mouth crushed against his. 

They pulled away reluctantly, lips still nuzzling against each other, chests heaving from having forgotten to breathe. 

"I didn't mind waiting," Wufei said softly when he did trust himself to speak. "You came."

Heero smiled one of his rare smiles. 

  
  
++++++++++ ++++++++++

  
  
"And then what happened?"

It *had* to be asked, no matter how jarring that blunt question sounded against the fairy-tale-like first three-quarters of the story. 

The man turned his head. There was a bemused smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, it made his refined features looked even more sensual. But the almost-smile didn't stay for long, fading away as soon as it had appeared. And he looked again, like your usual working adult who had yet to fully shake off that college air – not too old, not too young – maybe in his late twenties, but it was hard to tell for sure. One hand rose and pushed his jet-black hair out of his eyes. It was a little too long at the forehead and at the sides but he wore it comfortably. 

"It ended," he said levelly, turning back to the bay front he had been staring at. 

"Just like that? But there was a good thing going on, wasn't there?"

A snort escaped the man, but he seemed little affected still as he pulled the edges of his coat tighter around himself. "Haven't you heard? That everything becomes clearer in the day?" He shook his head wistfully, seeming to grow philosophical. "You sleep on it, you wake up, and then you see things that weren't there before. Everything gets uglier in the day too." 

"What exactly happened?"

"Many things. Too many things, maybe. You love someone, but you have to face everyone related to that someone. His family disapproved."

"Oh...the classical family-forbidden-love syndrome?"

He laughed; a rich, husky sound that was at odds with the air of scholarly elegance he exuded. "Not that scientific, I think. You have to understand who he is. The youngest son and the love-child of a Japanese man and a _gaijin_ – a white woman. His mother died young, he had little status in his family. He had a lot to prove."

"What about you?"

"Hn...I'm the only son in my family, and he's the youngest son with no recognition. His family pretended he never existed. My family pretended that I no longer existed. We were probably made for each other." 

"And yet both of you gave up just like that?"

The man visibly froze. His obsidian eyes looked even darker if it were possible, like they were weighed with some unspoken burden. His gaze, which had been fixed on the horizon, stared down at the railings his hands were clutching. But like he had done so for most of the interview, he recovered sufficiently. "We didn't give up," his voice trembled so slightly it might be imaginary if not for his hand rising shakily to push at his hair. 

"But both of you left."

The man was silent for a long time. At length, he lifted his face to the rippling breeze that blew across the bay. A wistful sense of loss rang in the hollowness of his voice.

"We didn't leave. We let each other go."

"Are you waiting for him?"

  
++++++++++

  
He stayed at the café a while longer, before leaving and letting his legs take him wherever they pleased. It felt good to just walk, after having been sitting down for close to two hours. 

Ah well...he knew he shouldn't have agreed to that interview. It was just ridiculous, a repaying of a friend's favour. A couple of college kids wanted a real-life love story that was not the usual. It could be cross-cultural, cross-nationality, cross-whatever and they chose to tackle gender. 

He said yes; he had not much of a choice there, and he had been a student once and knew the academic path was hellish, most times. They didn't say it had to be a love story of his own, they just wanted one. He thought about telling one which was so normal it hurt. Two men living together, whoever reached home made to make dinner, squirming out of the chore of taking out the garbage, arguing about the correct method of squeezing the goddamned toothpaste, whispering things that meant nothing into each other's ears but understanding them all the same, making love some nights, fighting on others. Everyday things, everyday lives – but that story wouldn't make an interesting one, be it real or not. 

So, he told the only other tale he knew – the beautiful side of the same damned story.

They had been polite about it, careful not to point out that the story panned out like a cliched chick flick. He wouldn't be surprised if they went back and fixed some parts of the story to make it a little more...what's the word...Ah. Realistic. 

And *now* because the present was always more significant – he stared up into the heavens with a sigh – the last thing that was needed to cement the story into romantic-tragicomedy history happened. It started raining. He was sure that whoever was in charge of the weather up there was listening in on his thoughts and giving cues off them. 

It came as a drizzle, always a drizzle, something that he didn't mind, for he had always loved the soft mist of moisture and breeze against his skin, and *then* it escalated into an all-out downpour. Now his nightly stroll at the bay front was effectively ruined as he quickly headed for the nearest shelter. Dozens of other like-minded strollers did the same, dashing towards a shelter-stop just metres ahead. 

He reached it, ducking under the shelter just before he got truly soaked through. 

The rain thundered on, drumming against the wood of the beams and carried into the shelter by the relentless winds. Elbowed and jostled by every other shelter-seeker, he had to squeeze himself tightly against one of the slender wooden columns or he might as well be pushed out of the shelter. And packed like sardines, all of them temporary refugees at this rain shelter waited for the abating of the storm. 

He didn't have much else to do but stare glumly into the sheets of watery needles. Staring made his mind think, that was the problem. That first night had been like this too. The eatery...the eatery was no longer around, having moved just half a year ago. He had only a scant six months to enjoy the foods again, having just returned to this town a year back. 

His mind rewound back to that moment he had stupidly backed into another person, his own flustered apology. He recalled that he didn't just drip water over that person's shoes; his umbrella was practically stabbing against him as well. He was sure he didn't leave too well an impression. A gawky, bookish college student too self-conscious, and not quite worldly-wise enough. 

He was shoved again, rudely jolted out of his reverie. He saw that several persons were already leaving the shelter. That flash downpour only lasted minutes; it had ebbed to a drizzle that was not really light enough to brave without an umbrella, but not everyone had the patience to wait it out. He stared up at the swollen night skies, wondering if he should leave and just catch a cab home. 

He was collided into just as he turned, the impact knocking his black case out of his hand. It skidded across the wet ground, scattering his documents. Cursing inwardly, he lunged after them, trying to snatch up as many of them as he could before they were ruined by the water. 

He vaguely noticed another pair of hands doing the same thing – rescuing his stuff. Presumably, that was the idiot who had collided into him. He had no time to even roll his eyes at the offender, accepting the person's help with gruff thanks. Out of the corner of his vision, he noticed with a sinking feeling, a small piece of paper with what used to be writing on it. The ink had all ran, leaving behind a mess of colour. 

Struggling to keep his composure, he tried to pick it up, and the soaked paper disintegrated into sad little pieces in his fingers. A sense of loss, heavier than he might have expected, overwhelmed him in its intensity. It was not so much the writing on it that he had lost. It was the naivete of youth behind the creation of that writing that he lost. Six years worth of memory that had kept him from throwing it away, and now gone in an instant, and under such circumstances too. He was aware of the continued presence of the person responsible for his lost writing, and it annoyed him badly. Maybe that genius needed to be told to get lost. 

"I'm sorry. It's nice."

Yes it is, he wanted to retort, but his breath died, choked off in his throat. Something...there was something about those words that triggered the inexplicable tightening of his chest, but it was a familiar tightening that constricted his breathing like he would suffocate. He never thought he would know the meaning of time just freezing in its tracks. Not being able to move, or even think as he crouched there, holding the sorry tatters of that poem he had written in a fit of whimsicality as a student.   


Not just the words...It was the voice that had uttered them. 

He knew that voice. He heard it countless times in his mind, always haunting him, pursuing him. 

His head snapped up. 

And now time sprung into motion, rewinding, fast-forwarding, twisting until he could no longer tell the past from the present. Was he dreaming? Hallucinating? Like a clip from past memories, he stared blankly up into eyes so blue they were unearthly, even shaded as they were by unruly brown locks. They were older now, but the depth to their expression remained unchanged. 

Déjà vu in all its painful clarity. 

"You..." he whispered, a rising maelstrom of emotions threatening to choke his voice again. His vision stung, rendered bright with his own tears. 

It was ironic. He had anticipated – no – *hoped* with whatever hope that he could call on in the deep, unknown recesses of his heart for this moment. And he had planned his speech, what he would say, put voice to every little emotion that he had buried for all these years. 

He had so many things to say, and he could say none now. 

"Look."

He turned his head. The night sky was fresh, clear with a silver slice of moon that pierced through her veil of clouds. A new moon, with her trail of emerging stars like silver glitter. The bay was serene, reflecting in its clear waters the simple loveliness of the night sky. Heavenwards, the rain still fell, softly in a misty drizzle that left not moisture, but a brilliant scattering of diamond glitter on their hair and coats. 

"It's a beautiful night."

He turned those words over in his mind. It had been long since he noticed the change and renewal of the seasons, of day into night and back again. He could not remember the last time he thought of anything as beautiful. He brushed the back of his hand across his cheeks, that brusque gesture belying the emotion that still drew wetness from his eyes. He received no immediate reply to his quiet accusation. 

A starburst of cherry red as an umbrella unfolded. He stared mutely at it, whether dazed by its brightness or the well of memories it released, he would never know.

"I came."

He kept silent for a moment, before climbing slowly to his feet. There were those times when he couldn't keep back tears when they insist on falling. Not when words he once knew all came back to remind him why they were the reason for tears anyway. He hesitated, out of sheer weight of the unknown, but slowly stepped under that umbrella held out for him. 

"I..." he searched for the words, better words, more appropriate words for this time, but found himself using that same line he did once upon a time. "I didn't mind waiting." 

And he still meant those words, whether back in the past or now in the present.

"Aa..."

The night seemed to open up then and envelop them in its warm folds, as cherry red melded into the dark, and gradually lost in an ocean of faces – the two most familiar strangers.

  
  
  
  
~*~ fin ~*~  
February 2004

* * *


End file.
